


alteration  ੈ

by teezsr



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ateez Universe, Diary, Dimensional trip, OT8, Other, Storyline, Time Travel, halateez, theory, white masked man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29977368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teezsr/pseuds/teezsr
Summary: eight boys with one dream and a trouble that set them apart. with the cromer in your hand you can change everything... will you join us?orsome mysterious man entrusted something so important to a tiny boy and his lil friends to save some other world.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. 1. memoir

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer:
> 
> this would consist confirmed/mentioned parts of ateez's own diary but this story would be me filling in the storyline gaps and continuing it with my own theory. will frequently edit small details because no one knows what ateez is up to and they refuse to spoil us.

_the man with the black fedora said,_ **_❝_ ** **_there are countless dimensions in the world_ ** **_❞_ ** _,_

_but when I opened my eyes, it was all just a dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean ... that it is not real?" 
> 
> \- Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows


	2. 1.1 seonghwa

seonghwa lived in his studio type room ever since he grew up. it wasn't _grand_ but it was home. the papers stuck in the basket and his television that barely worked, his notes stuck to the wall and he could remember why there were bunches of to do list in his wall. it started when he tried to remind himself of buying groceries and laundry and it became a habit until every post its contained of constant **laundry, buy groceries, buy another note** and other reminders. because that was how he lived his life. he had guides and felt that he needed them.

his life was your average kind. he could afford to eat three meals and his only luxury was sleeping, although he was always at a go for life. he never asked for more because he felt that he had everything he needed to survive.

seonghwa trudges in the store, cold air, moonlight outside.

he scans the stalls.

_“did i forget anything?”_ was there any shortage? did he lack something? he checks his cart. one, two, three, four. everything was most likely there already.

he tramps to the empty lined counter, paying everything that was scanned.

seonghwa carries his bag of groceries as he walks out the store. he sees a little girl pulling his father excitedly towards the ice cream stall, and he sees giggly teenage girls clinging onto each other while they talk about how happy they were for the day, he sees a mother of three kids skipping their way to the park.

while heading home he sees different people.

he sits back and he opens his grocery bag- checking everything that he bought- one, two, three four.

_“did I forget anything?”_ he asks himself once again and he tries to recollect his memory of how he bought things in the store… but he only remembers the people happily walking and talking…

once again he remembers what he didn’t have. he remembered not having have people that could love him… **_today- like any other day- seonghwa feels empty._**

could I find them again? he asks himself. he didn’t need to remember anything. not if the only thing he’d reminisce is the happy times… and that moment that ruined everything.


	3. 1.2 yunho

how does it feel like to lose someone you deem precious? yunho could answer, although he’d choose not to. because ** _today- like any other day- yunho blames himself._**

he sat in the dark edge of the room, crumpled rhymes of written works scattered on the floor, the damaged guitar that he smashed still sitting in its place, the empty egg trays pasted on the wall (he remembered putting them there saying it’d help make their little studio soundproof) and the tracks. their drafted tracks. _his brother’s drafted tracks._ how does it feel to be living up with the guilt and self-hatred?

he remembers the day. when june came and the heat of summer made everyone irritable… because he remembered wearing long sleeves together with his brother. smaller but cheerful than him, his black fringes brushed to the side. they were on their way to the studio with their rough draft of a new song. they walked silly, almost like drunkards on the street, with dark circles underneath their eyes (the result of pulling all-nighters) but they had their smiles because of the papers they held.

his brother danced on the street and he remembers shouting, _“be careful!”_ as giggles erupted, and when his brother turned, with a smile in his face.

he remembers the paper flying when his brother’s hand slipped.

he remembers his brother chasing their drafted papers on the street… across the road… and he still remembers- until this day- he remembers how he witnessed his brother’s fragile body crashed… in front of his eyes… the blood, the mourning, the cries.

he remembers everything… even his desperate self crying for help, with nothing he can do but weep.

and today he just sits down in the dark edge of the room. remembering it all. he knew how proud they felt after finishing the song but today- when he looks at the damned papers –all he could remember is bitterness, anger, sadness, and his brother. he couldn’t think of bringing himself in the hospital not when his brother is asleep in that damned bed. not when he isn’t the one who’s suffering from that long sleep.

how could he reach his dreams if in the first place… it wasn’t his.

so he heaves a sigh, and says his sorry for the day.

everything feels worse. more than how it did in the past. he didn’t only lose his brother but also his friends. just because of that one moment. that one moment….


	4. 1.3 san

san hates the sound of the truck's engine, he hates it because it meant moving out. he hates riding vehicles if it meant moving out. again. for the third time- this year. and to make it even worse he hates changes because **_today- like any other day- san feels like dying._**

despite how he hates it, he carries the table made out of oak wood to the new house, and he swears it was smaller than the last house they've been to but he shrugged it off after putting the table inside.

"your new uniform is in your room now, sweetie" his lovely mother shouted through doors, and san nods slowly.

of course he had to transfer to another school. again. for the third time- this year.

was it az high school? he doesn't care (not that he had something to anticipate). three different uniforms, and their third new house.

too many things to carry around... too many things to worry about. but... there were no friends.

he dives in his sheets, feeling tired for the day.

if only he was with them. if only they didn’t need to move out. if only…


	5. 1.4 mingi

desks filled with writing, stinking lockers with love letters, chipped painting in the wall of old buildings, noisy break times, the wilted plants in the secluded area of the room. it started in school, where some kids would sneak away from their subjects and hang out in the fields, where some kids would drown their selves in endless books, where others was forced to go to, and where other’s would spend their days while talking about how they’d reach unfathomable heights of success once they finish school.

when hope was still alive in the hearts of the youth.

mingi wore his hand-me-down uniform and the sneakers that barely fit his foot, his earphones slung onto his shoulder that blasted classical music, he tramps and he sees the dried grass in the fields, he sees late comers getting scolded by the counsellors, and he sees people opening their lockers and others hanging out. he sees different kids as he trudges in the halls, his backpack weighing down in his shoulders.

almost there. almost there. almost there.

he pushes himself once more until he arrives the front door of the classroom, the usual people with their usual activities welcomed him.

he sits at the farthest row and he leans in the table. the usual tchaikovsky’s swan lake had a different vibe than normal days, like it embraced him and told him it was okay to be an outcast but the song didn’t filter the loud sound of running and creaks of chairs.

a tall figure grips his coat and mingi feels the weight in his shoulder, and so he stands, gazed at the man.

he smirks _, “oh? are you some minion-“_ a slap lands in his face mid-air but unfazed, mingi chuckles.

_“everyone’s watching, let’s take this outside”_ mingi removes the hands in his coat and he walks out.

he removes his earphones, turning right after the last classroom (their classroom) towards the open yard at the back.

he stands in the middle with hands in his pocket, the boy coming a minute late before him.

_“are you kwak’s minion?”_ he grins tauntingly _, “park jaeyeol,”_ he squints his eyes as he read the boy’s nametag, _“i probably remember giving him bruises that he’d remember for life”_

_“bastard!”_ jaeyeol charges his fist at mingi… but it was probably the worst decision of his life.

mingi catches his fist and props his arms behind him, wrapping jaeyeol around his arms, he pushes the dizzy boy and punches him straight to the face, kicking him to the ground. jaeyeol groans out of pain as he holds his bloody nose and mingi kicks his abdomen twice.

_“who do you all think you are?”_ mingi was out of breath and he backs away, _“i said i won’t back down, right? but now you’re lying in the ground because you thought i’m that easy?”_

mingi huffs and he puts his earphones back on the swan lake replaced with mozart’s sonata number 17 in c, he sighs and looks back at jaeyeol one more time.

**_today- like any other day- mingi is alone._ **

****

he knew he was. he chose this in the first place. but why does he feel so bad? he feels so bad for destroying everything. everything they had.


	6. 1.5 yeosang

it was a luxurious life. where you could probably say yourself that you’re born with a silver spoon shoved in your mouth and where others would say that they’d exchange anything to be in his place. although yeosang begs to differ.

he believes that the height of your wealth is how much freedom you don’t own and **_today- like any other day- yeosang hates his life._** others would say he’s spoiled or somewhat something along those lines for not loving his privileges or not living contently. but he knew that it wasn’t what he likes. he didn’t want grand boring parties, he didn’t want gallery walks, he didn’t want front row tickets to shows, nor he didn’t want flying to other countries just to talk about the same thing over and over again. **_business, sophistication, morale._**

****

he was tired of his father’s restrictions due to “reflect on parenting” of course they were doing bad on how they handle him. he could probably confirm, but he couldn’t talk about it.

he sits in the middle of the class, holding his 4/4 violin, surrounded by other students with their own instrument. he was tired of playing mozart’s requiem in d minor over and over again for one hour every day… but he couldn’t say anything- not when he was with other kids with privileges. he had no friend. not even some who could smile with him and understand that he didn’t want anything he have right now.

how does it feel to have freedom? like a bird- but not a bird that’s trapped in a cage that couldn’t entirely use its wings to fly in the sky. yeosang wanted to know how it feels like to be free, like a bird prancing in the sky with different heights. he wanted answers. yeosang wanted to know.

**if only. if only….. if only**

the teacher says it was a time for break and yeosang heaves a sigh as he leans in his chair, leaving his violin on the ground.

if only his father didn’t destroy the things he loved. if only none of those happened.


	7. 1.6 wooyoung

have you ever felt giving up because they couldn’t see your worth? have you ever gave everything but never experience being paid off? wooyoung wants to know if there were other such desperate and pathetic human beings on earth.

he was left behind the practice room, the dance squad telling him to go clean up the mess they made. he never knew where they were always going late at night… not that they ever told him about it.

wooyoung entered the dance academy in hopes of reaching his dreams but he never felt like he belonged there… like he was with _his_ people. he was left alone with his pathetic reflection on the big mirrors just like that. **_today- like any other day- wooyoung wants to fit in_**. he always wished to be with them but he never felt that he deserved standing by their side.

as if it was something you should cry on. wooyoung always wanted to be belonged to some place. his house, his school, his dance academy or just the stupid life he lives in. everyone felt unreachable… everyone looked big and scary. something he couldn’t handle.

“wooyoung, it’s your turn” one of them says.

he tries to walk to the center but for some reasons every time he tries to take a step forward it felt heavy and painful.

he heaves a sigh and closes his eyes and he remembers his friends and how they used to practice.

he remembers one of them saying he just needed three things.

wooyoung opens his eyes in relief, he couldn’t remember the three things though, but he feels somewhat comfortable.

and he starts to allow the music to take control of his body.


	8. 1.7 jongho

jongho sat alone in the benches inside the court, beside his crutches he looked over his legs that was in a cast. he never missed basketball practices until this day, even if he wasn’t required anymore. even if he couldn’t anymore…

he dredge up until this day…

the final game, his dream… _his dream!_

after the _game_ he had a scheduled audition in the national team but after the third quarter that night…

choi jongho, the point guard, the legend of their school! shooting his three points! but there was a foul… a fracture… and he finds himself in the hospital for a few weeks.

choi jongho, the point guard… the legend of their school… doomed in his crutches and left alone with his fractured leg.

jongho looks at the players soaked in sweat, thinking, _“maybe if i don’t have crutches on… maybe i’d be with them up to this day”_

he sees player seven shoot the ball, and he follows its direction… _“shoot,”_ he mumbles to himself as he sees the ball enter the hoop.

they cheer themselves and puts the ball back to its place, the team captain announcing break time.

jongho hated it, he hated how they stopped practicing just because they can.

he grabs his crutches and stands up alone, almost losing balance as he had the crutches supporting his weight.

he starts to walk gaped steps, one that made a hard sound on the floor because of his leg sticks (he preferred calling them leg sticks since it never sounded serious) the hard part was going down the stairs because one wrong step and he’d slide down with pain but jongho managed just fine.

he picks up the ball and walks in the middle of the court.

hearts beating fast… _what if?_ he thought about this a hundred times. _what if_ his legs would heal faster than they expected?. what if?

he stared at the ball, the familiar blazing of flames inside his heart, the passion burning until it reaches his hands, he puts his arms up and he shoots the ball with the familiar feeling he felt long ago, although today was different. ** _today- like any other day- jongho doesn’t know what to do._** the ball misses the hoop, and there was no crowd that cheered him on. the echo of the bounce felt like it was taunting him, telling him how he was a failure.

he turns his back and tries to close his eyes.

he blames himself. he blames everything to himself. choi jongho that couldn’t pursue any of his dreams. the one who hurt his friends. the one who ruined everything. choi jongho.

what a failure.


	9. 1.8 hongjoong

hongjoong always had this weird feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he looks around his house. it was a warehouse that turned into a home… and others’ home too… well- used to be. he sits in the middle of it all and he recollects memories of seven people running playfully and others screaming for no apparent reason.

he remembers eight of them. he clearly remembers seonghwa, yeosang, san, yunho, wooyoung, mingi and jongho. he remembers how the house changed over time because of new things and others just moving things away from where they used to be. he remembers them preparing for wonderland.

wonderland.

it felt different now that he was alone. hongjoong looks around, unbothered with the mess of bundled papers on the ground.

the words carved in the big box of the refrigerator that was covered with egg trays, it was vandalized in the sofa, written above the big mirrors, inscribed under the skateboards, the peeling walls and even the handles of microphones they used. _wonderland_. it was where they wanted to be.

but hongjoong lost them all before they even start to sail.

he smiles bitterly to himself, looking over the table where wooyoung and san would bicker about some stupid things they found out, he looks at the sofa where he’s sitting at, where him, mingi and seonghwa talk about things that fascinates them. he sees the little room they created calling it a _studio_ since it’s where yeosang, jongho and yunho started to write their songs.

he looks at the gate and his smile fades and then only anger is left. he looks at the gate and he hopes none of those happened.

he looks around once again, thinking maybe he’d hear yunho scream on the top of his lungs or maybe jongho singing while wooyoung stand in the table and do his annoying tap dance. **_today- like any other day- hongjoong misses them._**

in hopes of fixing everything, hongjoong sleeps.

everything was foggy and almost menacing, cold wind creeps in hongjoong’s body, he was standing in the middle of nowhere, the mist almost felt magical. he looks around but he never sees anyone until he sees a dark figure stand before him.

they looked menacing and somewhat intimidating, and was covered in black, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his fedora, and half his face hidden behind a mask. the man with the black fedora said, “there are countless dimensions in the world,” his voice was eerie and dull, like it was some kind of a warning, “you were all meant to meet.”

beat.

“there are more than the world you’re living in,” he says.

hongjoong scoots farther, his face twists in confusion.

the man with the black fedora hands him an hourglass and for some reason hongjoong reaches it out.

“take care of the cromer” he says and disappears like the sand following the wind.

hongjoong seemed confused when everything swirled before his eyes… and after opening his eyes, it was a dream. bullets of sweat and hearts beating fast.

it was already dark and quiet, but he sees something glow…

next to him was an hourglass he could say he saw for the first time. he doesn’t reach it out and stays still.


	10. 2. memoir

_what does it mean to do anything for someone you love?_

_hongjoong would say that the younger version of himself won't understand. the younger version of himself won't understand agreeing to a deal from a mysterious dream intruder for fixing a problem he didn't cause in the first place._

_❝_ **_how does this help me?_ ** _❞_ _he utters to himself, and he was taken aback of the glowing hourglass... when the sand began to flow back to the top._

_the man with black fedora appears before him,_ _❝_ **_alteration_ ** _❞_

_❝_ **_how?_ ** _❞_ _creased brows, hongjoong asks._

_❝_ **_you'll figure it out_ ** _❞_ _it deadpans and hongjoong just huffs in disbelief._

_❝_ **_theres more than the world you’re living in. the world I live and the world you live is all true_ ** **_❞_ ** _this stirs more confusion._

_❝_ **_how does an hourglass help me?_ ** _❞_ _he asks._

**_❝_ ** **_that is the cromer. it holds the answers you’re looking for_ ** **_❞_ ** ****

_❝ **it’s not the reality that makes you lose your dream it’s your decision** ❞ it says and disappears._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god! can i not save  
> one from the pitiless wave?  
> is all that we see or seem  
> but a dream within a dream?
> 
> \- dream within a dream, edgar allan poe


End file.
